


in translation

by cloudsweater



Category: Shadowhunters (TV), The Mortal Instruments Series - Cassandra Clare, The Shadowhunter Chronicles - Cassandra Clare
Genre: ?? i got nothing im sorry, Love, M/M, Mornings, Sweet, a lil bit off a mess, doesnt REALLY follow the book or the show im sorry, first i love u, sorta poetic but its sweet i swear, thank u 4 giving it a chance boop, uhhh ok
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-04
Updated: 2017-06-04
Packaged: 2018-11-09 00:56:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,680
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11093547
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cloudsweater/pseuds/cloudsweater
Summary: god, for a romantic, for someone who lived to hear those words, how he dreaded them. how he dreaded those three. little. words.





	in translation

**Author's Note:**

> hello ! first off , happy pride month !!! i've had this sitting around for a while, but i feel it pertains here ! loving and being loved is what we do best. i have a lot of feelings about love, i hope i'm able to express some of them in here. this fic is kinda important to me... idk. just because their love is important to me. this is how i pictured the first 'i love you' going. i hope u find some joy in it. comments or anything are always appreciated !! if u read it, thank u thank u. good day and happy loving :_)

Magnus Bane couldn’t stop realizing how beautiful everything was.

It had started with his bedsheets, which were decorated with lulling maroon patterns imprinted on soft gold. Magnus thought it odd that he had had these sheets for decades, had probably spent years resting his eyes on the fabric while his mind saw other things. He had owned the sheets for so long, bought them in a market he could no longer name, in a town he was no longer sure existed. So long, and yet he’d never even noticed them. Seen, sure. But noticed? Never.

It was only here, now, that his eyes trailed down and he realized, in a somewhat shocked fashion, that the patterns bore a stunningly calm design. The red danced around in thick circles, and the lines that swooped around twirled and seemed to reach for something.  
.

In the bluish early morning light, Magnus traced the sheets with sleepy fingers, and had revelation after revelation about just how very nice the sheet was, and just how many nice things he owned. The gold was perfectly offset by the light, and Magnus’ eyes felt happy to be open. He picked out all sorts of patterns amongst the maze of red lines; flowers and boats and just amorphous collections of lines that he could recognize from the back corners of his mind. He was familiar with these sheets.

He knew these patterns, he knew the comforts of them.  
His hand slowed to a stop as he made his final revelation: as many senseless patterns he saw in the gold, all the lines came back together. Always, always, they came back into the same, original design. The design he knew.

 _How nice_ , he thought.

He went back to tracing, and, almost subconsciously, his fingers ghosted over to the waterfall sheets, a cascade of fabric rippled and bent with the pressure above it, the red lines sinking and withering to accommodate the sleeping boy above them. Slowly, Magnus followed the sloped of the red, and he smiled, because he knew his destination before he had even begun. His fingers dipped and then-

Alec.

Just Alec.

Sometimes, looking at him hurt in the most wonderful way.

So sometimes, when Alec was laying there, all Magnus could do was just look at bits of him. Bits at a time. It would be all too much to try and take him in at once. A sensory overload of sweet feelings in his mouth and stomach. His eyes would maybe squint, as if he were looking at the sun.

In early morning, Alec Lightwood was luminous.

Magnus Bane couldn’t stop realizing how beautiful everything was.

He looked at Alexander Lightwood.

“This is your fault, you know,” said Magnus, smiling.

This was the time. It had occurred many other mornings, and but Magnus hardly cared to keep track. He knew when he felt it.

In early morning, he knew.  
.

When he was looking at Alec and he couldn’t stop thinking in verse, in songs, in poem format he’d learned in Paris; when he started thinking in four different languages in one train of thought, picking out the right words to describe Alec’s breathing, Alec’s nose, Alec’s entirety. When he would try and pluck out the perfect words, with a complete disregard for linguistic regularity. This was when he knew: he was in too deep.

His mind in poetry and his heart sleeping next to him.

So he’d turn away from the boy for just a moment, the way some people look at the ground at a fireworks show, or at a campfire, when the heat is coming off so strong, yet your eyes are locked on the dancing flames. It was like that.  
He would look away from Alec not because he wanted to, not because he had to, but perhaps because he knew with a blinding, brilliant, dizzying, comforting certainty, that Alec would be there when he looked back. And so would the feeling.

Magnus would look away, but the Alexander mindset would stay. Like seeing the world through rose-coloured lenses, Magnus seemed to see everything that morning in an aesthetically inclined way. First it was the bedsheets, in all their golden, maroon, memory-filled glory. He realized he truly loved those sheets, and there were no other sheets in the world he’d rather have.

Magnus looked at the bedsheets, and he felt home.

Next he lazily watched as the window breathed open one side of his curtain. The corner edged upwards delicately, and morning light took its opportunity and jumped through to land on the bed as the lacy corner of the curtain settled back down. Such a tender moment, Magnus’ heart seemed to grow at the idea that the world was full of them.

Magnus looked at the window, and he felt pure.

He watched as his cat- who had been a shadow up until then- jumped up onto the bedside table with a little _mmrrp_? He smiled as Chairman delicately edged his way over to Magnus, carefully sidestepping a paperback and a glass of water. Magnus let his arm lull to one side; his fingers hung suspended in front of the cat’s face. With delight, Chairman closed his eyes and pressed his nose to the fingers, pale pink against white against honey. Magnus grinned quietly at his little cat, who always seemed to be there at the perfect times, whom Magnus thought sometimes was wiser than himself. He loved him.

Magnus looked at Chairman, and he felt family.

It was then that the fire in Magnus stomach dulled, and he wanted it back.

He would turn, knowing how it would feel when he did. It would be good. It would be the last five minutes relived, again and again, every good feeling he had felt, amplified and softened.

He would turn again to look at Alec.

Alec.

When they had first met, Magnus thought that in the whole entire world, there had to, _absolutely had to be_ a word to describe Alec. In all the languages, surely, surely there had to be one.

English was, obviously, out. Too literal for its own good. Too much thought and not enough heart. French was closer, but not quite. Spanish seemed to get some of it, but not enough. German, Polish and Italian, he could come up with nothing. Indonesian seemed close in a way. And he tried to start at the very beginning; Latin, Greek, which were good, and yet…

He tried. He really did. There were very few words Magnus did not know, and even fewer languages. And yet he couldn’t find the one word that struck him completely as just Alexander. For some time, when he was working or reading, his mind would be on other things yet the air around his mind would just be on the search. He remembered this time all too well, a time of uncertainty and budding feelings, mood swings and bottles and living too much inside his head, putting too much of his heart outside of him and being unsure if he’d ever get it back.  

He looked up definitions and synonyms. For a little bit, it was borderline obsessive. It was as probably the most he had ever been interested in languages.

He did not find the word. Of course, he found words, letters in rows that came closer to describing Alec Lightwood, that Magnus could happily pin onto Alec in the back of his mind. But Magnus liked knowledge, and he liked defined.

And when it came to languages-

There was no word that could encapsulate Alexander Lightwood.

That had been when they first met.

God, had Magnus been naïve.

Because there wasn’t a single word for him.

No one word could ever hold Alec, because it was never meant to. As Magnus got to know him better, he stopped reading definitions and obsolete bibles and Facebook posts, and he started reading Alec instead. What he learned was more that books or google could have ever given him. Because Magnus knew, now.

Alec defined himself.

He was his own language. He was words in the form of his actions.

He was _shy_ in the form of his skittering eyes, his fleeting looks. He was _open_ in his unapologetic smiles. He was _caring_ as one of his hand would reach for Isabelle’s and the other would find her head, without even having to look at her. He was _insecure_ as he licked his already wet lips and spoke his truths into the neck of a bottle. He was _beautiful_ as he shifted from warrior to lover in seconds, his complexion somehow erasing all the differences between the two. He was _careful_ as he looked fully into Magnus’ eyes, his hair a halo and soft against Magnus’ stomach, his lips holding a question but not asking it. He was _harsh_ as he stood outside Magnus’ apartment in the pouring rain, holding a phone in his hand with eleven missed calls.

He was _soft_ as he pulled a sweater around his head and got stuck on purpose, his laughter and words intertwined inseparably as Magnus pulled the fabric back over his head.

He was Alec. This was him.

Magnus had been ignorant to think it could have been any other way. This was it.

Alexander Lightwood was a language Magnus had had to teach himself. It was the hardest language he’d ever had to learn.

And it was- absolutely, positively, by a landslide- his favourite one.

He looked over at Alec, amorphous boy that he was.

Magnus looked at Alec, and he felt…

He felt.

He just felt.

The last five minutes washed over him like a warm dream, and he tumbled in the words of all languages. Magnus leaned over and touched his lips to Alec’s nose, his hands finding the cave of his shoulder without even having to look. He rested like that, and softly nudged his head under Alec’s chin. He thought of all the times he had lay in his empty bed- all the times before and after Alec- all the times he’d lay there, awake when he should have been asleep. All the times, he’d run a hand over the cold, sterile sheets next to him and loathed the emptiness of them. All the times he’d been woken up by a voice inside his head rather that outside of it.

All the time’s he pressed his lips to his own shoulder, just for the moment of blissfully pretending that the skin was not his own.  

There had been so many of those times.

Slowly, Magnus edged his head and inclined his neck all the way up to look at Alec. From his angle, Alec’s eyelashes fanned out against the white of the ceiling. Dark hair glowed. He was more celestial than human. Something you see and save on the ceiling of a church, so that all who seek comfort and beauty might also catch a glimpse of it.

All those times, alone. Pretending.

And now this.

This, Magnus realized. This was so beautiful.

He pressed his lips to Alec’s chest and grinned. “All your fault.”

This is his. No more pretending.

This is his.

“What’s my fault?”

Magnus would have startled at the noise, but he felt the words vibrate in Alec’s chest before they were spoken to the air above his head. They were slow and sleep-covered, and Magnus was utterly pleased by their sound. Joyous, even. Elated. He tilted his head up again. Admittedly, an awkward angle, but Magnus didn’t further himself.

“Morning,” said Magnus.

With his free arm, Alec rubbed a knuckle to his eye.

“Hmm,” Twisting himself, he looked out the window beside him as if to verify the sun’s presence. “Morning.” he agreed.

He let his free arm rest at the bottom of Magnus’ back, his finger following the hollow of his skin. He looked down at Magnus, mildly amused or concerned.

“Was I still dreaming when you said that? Or- did you say that? In my dream, or in real life?”

A little reluctantly, Magnus repositioned so that they were perfectly arranged. He nudged his forehead to Alec’s and Alec let him, his fatigue overtaking curiosity. He faltered against Magnus’ body and let out a sigh Magnus felt in his everywhere. Magnus brought his lips to touch the very tip of his cupid’s bow and asked, “Why not both?”  

Alec coughed out a small laugh and shook his head. “Really?”

“What were you dreaming about?”

“Are you trying to change the subject?” Alec’s eyes were downcast, half of his mouth upturned. He toyed with the ties on Magnus’ pajamas.

“I am absolutely _not_. I just wanted to know what my boyfriend is dreaming about this fine morning. I actually resent such accusations,” said Magnus, feigning offended.

Alec’s smile grew, eyes still downcast. He stayed quiet.

“Oh. That bad, huh? I see. Well. Fine. You don’t have to tell me, but just know what I’m thinking is probably ten times worse that what actually- do you want to know what I’m thinking?”

 _Now_ Alec looked up, and without hesitation, grinned. “Yes.”

Magnus had him now. “Well,” he started seriously, “there’s you. And I’m _hoping_ there’s me, and I am guessing that there’s a bed somewhere in there, although, really, how necessary can one of those be in this day and age-“  he fell forward and his voice dropped in pitch and volume as he recited to Alec his supposed dream. About five seconds in Alec was gasping for breath, and he  shoved Magnus away to the other side of the bed. Magnus, his laughter drowning out Alec’s, fell back into nearly the same position. Magnus widened his eyes innocently. “What, did I miss something?”

“Oh my god.” laughed Alec, and his eyes were wet. He looked exactly like himself and he ran his sleeve along his eyes and looked at Magnus. “You’re not good at that, you know.”

“Actually, in the dream I probably would have actually been _better_ -“  

“ _Not that_ ,” he said loudly, causing Magnus to fall forward again and laugh helplessly, this time into Alec’s shoulder. Magnus’ heart swelled as he felt Alec shake with reciprocated laughter.

“I meant changing the subject,” Alec continued, when he was put together.

“Well,” Magnus plucked at a loose thread on Alec’s sweater. “It worked, didn’t it?”

“Not well.”

Magnus clutched his chest like _ouch._

Alec leveled himself down so they were eye level with each other again. The sheet around them were a twisted, scrambled mess.

Sincerely, Alec asked, “What’s my fault?”

Magnus stayed quiet for a second, which was a mistake on his part. Alec knew him well enough to see him off guard. Avoided his eyes, Magnus tried, “You know, you never did tell me what you were dreaming about.”

Keeping his face the same, Alec pulled his arms from where they rested on Magnus’ waist and crossed them over his own chest placidly.

“Al _right_ ,” moaned Magnus, letting his head flop in a defeated fashion to Alec’s shoulder. “Okay. Nothing is your fault.”

Despite the joking nature of the conversation, Magnus didn’t miss the small relieved look that fled to Alec’s face when he said those words. He instantly felt terrible, and softly he wrapped his arms around Alec’s neck. Alec let him, and even loosened his own knot of arms wedged between their stomachs.

“Well. Good,” said Alec, “because I just woke up. So. I didn’t really think I could have screwed up that fast.”  
 

Alec smiled brightly. Magus tried to match its luminosity, but somehow, he fell short. Alec noticed.

After a few second, he asked in a quieter voice: “What were you talking about, then?”

For some odd, inexplicable reason, Magnus felt himself falter knowing he was going to have to tell Alec now. It wasn’t like he would ever, ever tire of telling Alec of his affections for him, it was just this particular phenomenon was so foreign to Magnus, it would make little sense to Alec. He was the reason, the root of all the beauty in Magnus’ eyes, and while this was happily something Magnus could experience, he didn’t want Alec to feel intimidated by it. Or like he was somehow responsible for making it last. He wanted to put it into terms Alec could understand, and even now, he knew Alec wasn’t great with compliments. He wanted to tell him in a way that brought as much joy to Alec as it seemed to bring to Magnus, but he didn’t know if he could. The whole thing was a hopeless, love-filled mess.

How to explain to the sun of all the shadows it creates?

Magnus pulled himself away and looked right to Alec. This was his, no more pretending.  “Nothing is your fault.” He said, then added, tentatively, “And so is everything.”

_Wow. Great. Zero confusion there. Job well done, Bane. Pancakes, anyone?_

Alec’s face bundled in a questioning look. Magnus sighed.

“I’m sorry. That’s confusing. What I mean is…”

And then something strange happened.  

Magnus stopped. He just stopped. He took a moment and just took Alec in.

His cheeks and carved cupid’s bow. The mole at the edge of his face. The hair that curled out from above his ear. His lips that were always chapped in the morning. He was here.

Whatever Magnus said, Alec would be okay. He might not understand, but he would be understanding. Magnus had long ago promised that he would always be himself, regardless of who he was with, and Alec not only reminded him of that, he emphasized it. Magnus knew what to say, because he always knew what to say around Alec. He always knew.

Magnus watched Alec’s lip gently curve into a smile.

Love was bringing out more in each other than you could have ever brought out alone.

Magnus tucked a bit of Alec’s hair behind his ear and said, “I am just so glad I met you, Alexander.”

He watched as together their smiles faded in a magical, happy way. In his peripheral vision, he watched Alec’s hand come and touch his cheek, slide over his neck. He watched Alec’s lips part as he lightly touched Magnus’ eyelids. He would never hurt him.

Alec said, “Me, too.”

It was, Magnus realized, a beautiful moment. He closed his eyes and let Alec wash over him, knowing full well that Alec saw it, too. Alec saw the beauty. Magnus was tired, suddenly, and lulled forward, tangles of arms draped over him like sunlight, and lazily he watched the fabrics of Alec shirt shift with his breathing. He thought and hoped nothing would pull him out of this moment.

And nothing did, and nothing ever could.

Until.

“I love you,”

Magnus didn’t know if he was in or out of a dream, and for a second he didn’t care about the difference. It could have been seconds or hours with his eyes closed, and he didn’t care to find out. Magnus raised his eyes and saw Alec, immediately knowing it was not a dream. As well as Magnus knew him, he would never be able to recreate in precision some of Alec’s looks. This was one of them.

One half insecurity, one half pride, he licked his lips and his eyes fluttered down and up, carefully watching for Magnus’s reaction. Magnus didn’t have one for him. Not yet.

He whispered, “What?” not sure why he was whispering. It felt better than shouting, he supposed.

Evidently not the reaction he was hoping for, Alec looked down. “Um,” he smiled shakily at the sheet. “I never said it back to you, uh. That day. So I thought I might- I mean, I guess you didn’t technically say it to me but I still wanted to. Say it, I mean. To you.”

He kept talking.

Magnus was not listening.  
During his break filled monologue, Magnus woke up. As Alec fluttered to explain himself, Magnus rose slowly in the now pure morning air. The sun broke over him and around him. His breath was silent as a deer and he sat up, with sheets cascading off his waist. He tried to hear what Alec said, but in the background, there was something more. The air around his head was full. Full of the words he’d been always, always so terrified to hear. Terrified they’d be a lie. Terrified the person would twist around the definition so that it could only hurt Magnus.

God, for a romantic, for someone who _lived_ to hear those words, how he dreaded them. How he dreaded those three. Little. Words.

And here was Alec, rushing to explain himself, giving up an explanation for the words. The phenomenon was so foreign for him. The phenomenon was so foreign for Magnus. The concept was so foreign to them, as it is to all of us, as it probably will be for the rest of time.

And yet we will keep saying these three little words. These words that we dread and long to hear. To each other, we will always say these three words. We will say them because it is truer than not saying them.

We will love because that is what we do.  

And by the end of Alec’s speech, Magnus rose over him like the beautifully drawn ceiling of a church.

“Alec,” he said softly, and Alec looked up hopefully, the same gleam in his eyes that appeared when he would hear his name from that mouth, the same gleam that would appear for the rest of his life.

“Alexander,” said Magnus, and he cupped Alec by the chin and together they rose in the morning sunlight with the sheets cascading down then like wax off a candle, with three words between their mouths and fear in their eyes and smiles being born on their lips.

“Magnus,” whispered Alec. He knew it was true.

“Alexander,” said Magnus. He knew. He always knew.

They knew what the words meant.

They couldn’t seem to stop realizing how beautiful they were.  

Grinning, Magnus asked, “Would you say it again?”  


End file.
